


Out of the Darkness

by Jeanie205



Series: The Return [1]
Category: The 100
Genre: Begins immediately after the S4 finale, Canon compliant with what we know so far, Dream Sex, F/M, Light At the End Of the Tunnel, Making Friends, canon angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 02:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11152269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeanie205/pseuds/Jeanie205
Summary: Bellamy and the rest have returned to the Ark, after being forced to leave Clarke to her fate on the ground.  He tries to keep everything going according to plan, burying his sadness beneath the hard work of staying alive, but eventually he's forced to confront his grief in wholly unexpected ways.  And then something extraordinary happens.  Something that gives him new hope.*********************************************************************"Clarke said they'd bloom in two months," he said finally, his voice tight.  "So I'm gonna assume that's doable because I trust her judgment whether she's here with us or not."The others glanced at him warily, their expressions carefully neutral."So if there's something you need to make that happen, tell me now so I can figure out how to get it.  Because we are sticking to Clarke's schedule.  That point is non-negotiable.  She made that schedule because she knew it would work, and the one thing we're not gonna do is fuck around with it."*********************************************************************





	Out of the Darkness

And so Bellamy Blake returned to the Ark.

In the beginning, it seemed like he was in constant motion, rushing from one stressful task to the next. Too busy to think about anything except their survival. Too driven to have time to worry about what he was feeling when the only thing that really mattered was that they make sure Clarke hadn't died in vain.

While Raven was ensuring they had adequate air and water, it fell to Monty, the farm station kid, to figure out how to launch the algae production that was meant to become their initial food supply. Even with the strictest rationing, Bellamy knew what food they'd been able to bring with them would only last for so long. Not much point in avoiding suffocation and dehydration, he told Monty with a shrug, if they ultimately found themselves starving to death.

Monty's hands had been so badly burned back on the planet that Harper estimated it would be months before he could hold so much as a pencil, let alone a tool of any sort. So he'd taken on the role of supervisor, while others - for whom the growing of food was a new and perhaps less than thrilling experience - took on the hands-on tasks. Currently, the operation was going anything but smoothly, and they'd all learned that the generally unflappable Monty Green sometimes had a snappish temper.

"What the hell are you doing, Murphy?"

Bellamy caught the conversation as he strode down the hallway toward the hydroponics room. He also caught the extreme frustration that laced through Monty's voice.

"Hey, I didn't grow up mucking out shit like you did, farmer dude!" The response was vintage Murphy.

"You're just so damn slow and clumsy." Monty's complaints continued as his impatience grew. "It's really not that hard! Emori's better at it than you and she has to do it one-handed."

"What the fuck!" Murphy's anger was swift and sharp. "You got something to say about her?"

"John! Shut up!" Bellamy heard Emori enter the fray. "Monty was only saying that my left hand isn't good for much. And you know what? He's right. I've been living with it my whole life and there's no point in pretending it works perfectly."

"Emori, I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by that, except that you're more efficient with one hand than Murphy is with two."

When he entered the room, Bellamy noted the chagrin on Monty's face.

"What the hell is going on in here?" He knew they were all under pressure, but fighting didn't get shit done. "These algae beds are supposed to be blooming in two months."

"That may be a little...optimistic, Bellamy, given the inexperience of my, uh, workforce," Monty replied uncertainly.

Bellamy felt his jaw clench as he considered his response.

"Clarke said they'd bloom in two months," he said finally, his voice tight. "So I'm gonna assume that's doable because I trust her judgment whether she's here with us or not."

The others glanced at him warily, their expressions carefully neutral.

"So if there's something you need to make that happen, tell me now so I can figure out how to get it. Because we are sticking to Clarke's schedule. That point is non-negotiable. She made that schedule because she knew it would work, and the one thing we're not gonna do is fuck around with it."

Three blank faces looked back at him.

"All set then? You don't need more of us working on this shit to get it done?"

Monty shook his head, the other two quickly following suit.

When they chorused, "No problem," he turned to leave, only to find Raven standing in the doorway.

"What's going on in here?" she asked, looking bewildered. Direct as ever. "I could hear the yelling all the way back in my workshop."

"Nothing," Monty answered quickly for all of them. "All good."

Raven frowned, as though she didn't quite believe that all the ruckus had been about nothing.

Bellamy shrugged tiredly. "They didn't think they could get the algae to bloom on time, but now they've changed their minds," he said, pushing past her through the doorway.

"On time?" she asked, perplexed, and turned to follow him down the corridor.

"According to the schedule. The one Clarke set up."

"Bellamy." She struggled to keep up with his rapid pace. "Um...maybe we should take a look at that schedule. You know, see if it needs any, ah, adjusting."

Bellamy stopped in his tracks. _What the fuck was she talking about?_

"No need," he said, eyeing her. "I've got this."

XXXXXXXXXX

The algae bloomed within an acceptable timeframe, first one variety and then another. And another. When Monty moved on to instructing his newly-minted farm hands on the various ways the algae could be used, Bellamy began to think that the food situation was well in hand.

Air. Water. Sustenance. _Hell, Clarke, we might just make it_ , he thought as he left the hydroponics room nearly four months after their arrival back on the Ark.

His stomach clenched as it always did when he thought about her, but it was a quick thing. A reflex action he'd learned to ruthlessly suppress. In his distraction, Bellamy nearly tripped over a piece of loose pipe, cursing as he slammed into the wall to avoid a fall. It wasn't the first time it had happened.

Which gave him an idea.

One of the challenges that Bellamy had faced on arrival at the ring was what the hell to do with Echo. He'd saved her out of a sense of humanity. _We save who we can save today_ had, after all, become their mantra. And that day, he could save Echo kom Azgeda.

But she had no skills that were transferrable to the Ark, where warriors were irrelevant and a bow and arrow useless. Neither did she have any understanding about living in a confined space over a prolonged period of time. And eventually, unlike Emori who was fascinated by their environment, Echo had developed a terror of the space that surrounded them.

After her first horrified look at the burning planet below, she had shrunk away from the windows, carefully hugging the interior walls as she made her way around the ring. Harper tried to entice her with the beauty of a moonrise, but Echo had taken one look out the porthole and gasped in fear, scurrying away.

They'd all despaired of ever finding a way to acclimate Echo to her new home.

Bellamy had considered sending her to Monty to work on the hydroponics, but something told him that Echo wasn't really a team player. Working with Raven was out of the question unless the grounders had taught her advanced physics. Harper was their de facto medic, and had charge of their domestic arrangements, rationing food and water, searching out creature comforts in the small section of the ring that they inhabited. But he couldn't imagine that helping Harper would be a good fit for Echo.

But now he grabbed the pipe and began to search for Echo, finding her at last tucked into the corner of an interior room as far from the windows as possible. She looked up warily when she saw him in the doorway.

"Bellamy." Her greeting was tentative.

"Echo," he nodded. "How are you...getting along? You haven't seemed too...comfortable...here on the Ark."

Echo shrugged. "I'm alive. If I wasn't here, I'd be dead. So I am grateful to...all of you."

"But...?"

She shook her head. "But I don't seem to have a purpose here. And...you are right. I don't like this place. It feels...unnatural."

Bellamy couldn't help his small smile.

"It is unnatural. Humans weren't meant to live in space, but the planet hasn't been too friendly lately." He paused. "As to purpose, I think I may have a solution."

Echo sat straighter and her face became eager.

Bellamy showed her the pipe. "Do you know what this is?"

She shook her head.

"Neither do I, other than it's a piece of metal. There's probably a lot of this stuff all over the ring. Loose pieces of crap of every description."

Echo nodded, her face bewildered. Probably, he thought, waiting for him to get to the point.

"I want you to collect it."

Echo frowned. He could see it wasn't what she'd expected.

"Collect it?"

"Yes. There may be things we need now. Or maybe Raven will find a use for something later. Anyway, it's dangerous to have all this shit rolling around. When we lived on the Ark before, everyone had to be very careful about that. I think when the rest of them blasted off from this place it probably jarred a lot of stuff loose."

Bellamy wasn't sure Echo understood any of what he was talking about, but it didn't really matter.

"I want you to go around and pick it all up. Whatever you find that isn't nailed down."

"Go around...?"

"Everywhere on the ring. Not just the area we're using."

"And ...and what should I do with these ...things?"

"For now, nothing. At the moment, it's just important that we not leave the stuff lying around to trip us up. Come on, we'll find something for you to carry it in and a room to store it all."

Echo blinked up at him, but when she stood and straightened, he could already see new purpose in her bearing.

Talk about two birds with one stone, he thought wryly.

XXXXXXXXXX

So Echo had her assignment, which she had taken to with more eagerness than Bellamy would have thought possible for someone used to far more physical, not to say hostile, activity. Monty, Murphy, and Emori were carrying on with their farming, enlarging the algae beds and beginning to look into what other crops they might successfully raise hydroponically.

Harper tended to their minor illnesses and worked on making the ring altogether more comfortable. Raven kept what was left of the Ark from breaking down. When she had time, she looked for other systems to tinker with, other operations she could improve.

But the one thing Raven had been unable to fix, no matter how many times Bellamy had asked about it, was the Ark's communication system. It had been nearly a year since he'd spoken to Octavia, their last conversation cut short when the death wave reached Polis, and he was desperate to assure himself that she was okay.

As much as Bellamy had confidence in his sister, he knew how damned scared she'd been. And how tough it must still be, trying to keep that bunker full of former enemies from exploding into hostilities.

If he could just hear her voice, he knew he'd be feel a hell of a lot better.

In the beginning, he'd bugged Raven about communications almost weekly, until she'd finally gotten fed up and told him to knock it off. But that had been months ago. Surely she'd been able to think of a fix by now.

The day that Bellamy calculated was probably Octavia's 19th birthday, when he'd been thinking about her nearly all day, seemed like a good time to bring it up again.

Raven did not agree.

"For Christ's sake, Bellamy!" she snapped, when he asked her again to make communications a priority. "We keep having this discussion, but no matter how many times you bring it up, or how many ways you _order_ me to fix it, I've already explained that it can't be done. So can you give it a rest?"

Bellamy heard murmurs of agreement from the others, but dammit, it was Octavia's birthday, and he found he just couldn't let it go.

"I thought you had the greatest brain in the universe, Raven! You managed to fly us here on a hundred-year-old rocket, but you can't do this? I know none of the rest of you probably give a crap about getting in touch with them. You don't have anyone down in that bunker that you're worried about, but I really need to know what's happening with Octavia..."

"Bellamy...dude..." Murphy began, but before he could say anything else Monty had jumped up, the words exploding out of him.

"Shut up, Bellamy! Just shut the fuck up! Don't you think think I wouldn't be thrilled if Jasper was down there, still alive? Even if I couldn't talk to him? Or my dad, killed by the Azgeda when he'd barely set foot on the planet."

Bellamy heard Echo's soft gasp of surprise, but Monty was just winding up.

"And...my mother." He paused, and his next words came out on a choked breath. "Octavia's only alive now because Hannah Green is dead."

By now, Monty was breathing hard, his arms stiff at his side. Hands that had never completely healed, and most likely never would, were clenched into loose fists. When Harper touched his back lightly, he suddenly seemed to wilt.

But he wasn't done yet.

"Don't you think," Monty said, making a visible effort to control his anger, "that Raven would love to be able to look forward to seeing Finn again? Or that Emori wouldn't give anything to talk to her brother? We'd all like to have our own Octavia, waiting for us down on the ground, Bellamy. But it still wouldn't make any difference. Raven would have fixed those comms a long time ago, if she could. But," he expelled a quiet breath as he made his point, "she can't."

Bellamy shook his head and rose abruptly. His hunger gone, he fled the mess hall, angry with himself for being such an utter dick. At least he had the prospect of seeing Octavia again. The others had only the people in that room.

He spent the next week trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him that he could have suddenly become so completely self-absorbed. Seven days of soul-searching led him to a conclusion that should have been obvious for weeks. The reason he'd had the leisure to spend all day thinking about Octavia in the first place was that his very existence had become utterly pointless.

The others all had their tasks, even Echo. And, yes, he supposed he was their leader, but how the hell much guidance did six people really need? He'd gotten their lives set up on the Ark, but now everything was running more or less smoothly. His presence had become superfluous, his contribution was inconsequential.

And it was at that exact moment, when the revelation of his own uselessness hit him, that the hard part set in. When he finally understood that there was worse to come and that it had arrived.

The heaviness that he'd avoided for so long filled his heart, and he was overwhelmed by a restless melancholy. The grief and sadness he'd shoved down, and shunted aside, and refused to acknowledge had worked its way to the surface.

Bellamy suddenly couldn't stop thinking about Clarke.

For more than a year, he hadn't let himself think about her for more than a few seconds at a time, this avoidance aided by the burden of his responsibility for keeping them all alive. But now that his days had been reduced to the most mundane of activities, it all came flooding back to torment him, more painful than ever.

And what arrived right along with the pain and the sadness was the never-ending second-guessing.

_What if he'd taken the device to the satellite tower instead of Clarke?_

_What if he'd waited just a few seconds longer before closing that door?_

_Or even...what if he'd insisted that she never leave the bunker at all?_

The questions swirled around in his brain, all those _what ifs_ , and he just couldn't get them out of his head, even though he knew every answer by heart.

_Murphy needed his strength to help carry Monty. The launch window was about to close. And Clarke would never, ever have stayed in the bunker just because he wanted her to._

And the truth had been...he _hadn't_ wanted her to. After everything that had gone down about the damn bunker - _that fucking gun!_ \- he'd have hated leaving her with the whole thing still hanging between them, unresolved. Besides, he'd become sick to death of being separated from her.

Later, when it had become clear that they weren't going to be able to make it back to the bunker, he'd been filled with gratitude, thanking the fates that they would at least be together. That if he had to go back into space, at least Clarke would be going with him.

 _Fuck!_ It had even been her idea, this impromptu trip back to the Ark that was going to save them all.

But he'd never dreamed she'd be left behind. Or that _he_ would be the one doing the leaving.

Bellamy felt sick every time he remembered that crack he'd made months before about needing a break from saving her life. He'd give anything to have the chance to worry about her all over again.

And so it went, round and round in his head. Once he started down the road of melancholy and regret, it felt like nothing could bring him back. He hadn't let himself think about Clarke - had never properly mourned her - and now he was paying the price.

Sleep was the only thing that seemed to shut off his brain. So Bellamy began sleeping ten, twelve, fourteen hours a day, trying to provide his mind some respite from the pain of losing Clarke that he was finally facing. He knew he was missing a few meals here and there, but he figured his body would let him know if he'd missed too many. He also knew there was some small chance that the others might worry about him, but then realized that they understood he could take care of himself.

One afternoon, a couple of months into his self-prescribed sleep therapy, he'd thrown himself back on his bed, falling asleep instantly after a token round of activities had exhausted him. It was the pounding that awakened him, an insistent knocking that refused to let up no matter how tightly he curled up and covered his ears.

"Bellamy?" Raven called out as she opened the door. "Shit, you're sleeping again," she muttered, approaching the bed. He could feel her peering down at him

Good. If she thought he was sleeping she'd probably leave.

But he hadn't reckoned with Raven Reyes's dogged persistence.

Bellamy felt the mattress sag as she lowered herself to the bed, and then he heard her struggle with her brace as she pulled off her boots and swung her body onto the narrow space beside him.

"Bellamy, Bellamy," she whispered, tugging gently on his arm.

Bellamy groaned in exasperation. He just fucking _knew_ she wasn't going anywhere.

"What the hell do you want, Raven? I was trying to sleep here." He mumbled the words into his pillow, not bothering to turn his head.

"You're always trying to sleep. Lately, that's all you do. When the hell was the last time you even ate?"

Bellamy considered, hoping that if he gave the right answer she'd go away and leave him alone.

"Uh...this morning. Breakfast."

He could feel her shaking her head before she spoke. "Nope. Harper keeps track of that stuff and she says you never made it to breakfast. She says you haven't eaten since breakfast _yesterday_."

Bellamy shifted around to look at her, suddenly irate. "Well, if you already knew the answer, why the hell did you even ask the question?"

He flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling while he waited for her answer.

She sighed. "Mostly because I wondered if you knew it yourself."

_What the fuck?_

"I don't appreciate these mind games, Raven. I can take care of myself."

"Well, see, that's just it. I don't think you can. Not lately. Not for the last few months. Otherwise, you'd have figured out that sleeping all day, and then skipping meals, isn't really good for you." Raven paused. "Unless...are you sick, Bellamy? Because if you are, you need to take yourself right down and see Harper."

But he was already shaking his head.

"I'm not sick. I just...I can't seem to quiet my mind." As the words tumbled out of his mouth, Bellamy wondered why he was even burdening Raven with this.

"Quiet your mind? About...what?"

He closed his eyes. Maybe it would be easier to say if he couldn't see her.

"Don't you ever feel...guilty about Clarke? About leaving her? I mean, this was her idea, and we just...left her behind."

"Of course I do! I hated that we had to leave without her! But we didn't just leave her behind for the hell of it. If we'd waited, we'd all be dead."

"I know that," he whispered, turning to look at Raven as she lay there on the edge of his bed. "But I can't seem to get past it. It was...okay...when we were so busy just trying to stay alive. When all I had time to worry about was making sure everyone was safe. But now, I can't seem think about anything except the fact that I had to leave Clarke behind and...Christ, Raven, I miss her like hell!"

Raven looped her arm around his neck, nuzzling into his chest sympathetically.

"I miss her, too. But I know it's...not the same. I know what she meant to you."

Bellamy huffed and ran one of his hands across his face. "Do you? Because even I don't know what she meant to me. Somehow, we never got around to figuring that out."

"Yeah? Well, it doesn't matter what name you put on it. She was," Raven shrugged, "your person. We all knew that. And now, you're grieving. You put if off for a while, but now here it is."

He sighed, feeling marginally better just for having said it all out loud.

"But how do I get over this? It's like my brain is on a constant loop and I can't shut it down."

"I remember that feeling," Raven nodded into her chest. "From when Finn died. But I finally just...had to let him go, even though it hurt like hell. And that's what you've gotta do. You gotta let Clarke go."

Bellamy sighed. Easier said than done, even though he knew she was right.

"And start eating more regularly," she added. "Before you waste away."

"Okay." He began to rise. At least that part was easy. "I guess I could use some food."

"Wait," she said, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder. "Before you get up."

"Yeah?" _What now?_

"Hmm. So, um, Blake, do you, uh, wanna have sex?"

 _"Wh-what?"_ Bellamy was sure he must have misheard.

"You know, sex. That's where you take that thing that's hanging between your legs and stick it in this nice warm hole I have between _my_ legs. Very handy."

She cocked a brow at him and he snorted.

"Yeah, I think I remember what sex is. But...why are you asking me about this now?"

Raven shrugged. "I dunno. I thought it might...make you feel better. I mean, I know I'm not Clarke..."

"Whoa," he interrupted quickly. "Clarke and I never..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But that's where you were always headed."

Bellamy sighed. _Had they been headed there?_ He supposed he'd never know.

"So what you're saying is that this would be more or less a pity fuck."

Raven nudged him in the ribs. "I think I might get a little something out of it, too," she admitted saucily.

He smirked. "I seem to remember we already tried the sex thing once and you didn't find it exactly...mind-blowing."

She shrugged. "They do say that practice makes perfect."

Bellamy laughed for what he was pretty sure was the first time in weeks. "I don't think that's really the issue here. I'm positive we both know what we're doing." He said it lightly, but it felt important to make her understand. "But it's just...it's not what we are to each other, Raven."

He peered down at her then, struck by a sudden thought. "Unless...you need...I wouldn't mind..."

"Hah! In your dreams, Blake. I can take care of myself just fine."

"That's what I figured," he said, smiling. "Come on." Bellamy climbed out of bed and reached down to give her a hand. "Let's go get some of that stewed algae. Or is it baked algae tonight?"

"Let's," Raven agreed, pulling herself up and lacing up her boots.

He had his hand on the door latch when she stopped him suddenly with a tug to his arm.

"Just...one thing, Bellamy. If...um...if you change your mind and decide you're interested in a quick fuck after all, you should, you know, come to me. Not go...elsewhere."

Bellamy's eyes narrowed as he considered that statement.

"Where the hell else would I go? I'd really rather not be killed in my sleep by Monty or Murphy."

"No," Raven arched one brow and smiled wryly. "I meant...Echo."

"Echo, the warrior spy?" Bellamy was sure Raven had lost her mind. "She's tried to kill me and everyone I...care about more times than I can count. So she's not likely to appear on my 'people who might want to fuck me' list."

Raven shook her head, smiling widely as she opened the door. "I'll say this for you, Blake. You're not the vainest guy I've ever met, but sometimes you _are_ the most oblivious."

Bellamy felt himself flushing. There were implications there that he wasn't sure he wanted to investigate.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Never mind now," she said, pulling him out the door. "I'll explain while we eat."

XXXXXXXXXX

The dreams began a month later.

A month in which every day he'd made a deliberate effort not to dwell on thoughts of Clarke, or on his guilt and sadness over her death. But in the quiet of the night, punctuated only by the hum of all those mechanical systems that were keeping them alive, Clarke began to come to him all on her own.

At first, it had just been...a feeling he'd awaken to in the middle of the night. As though something warm and silken had brushed across his body. Something...elusive. Just out of reach. His breath would be short and his body filled with the sort of anticipation that told him something wonderful was about to happen.

It was vague and insubstantial, leaving him confused and unsettled.

But then one night her face appeared, wreathed in golden curls, her blue eyes soft and liquid. And in his dream he understood that he'd known all along that it was Clarke.

But this was...a different Clarke. Not the one he'd been through hell with, earnest and caring, brilliant and selfless, beautiful and determined. Not the Clarke who had burrowed into his heart, and whom he now missed so desperately.

No, the woman who'd begun to plague his nights was someone else altogether. A version of Clarke that he'd never let himself think about. That he'd never even let himself _dream_ about.

But he was dreaming about her now.

And in his dreams, this new Clarke touched him freely. She stroked his body, and kissed his mouth, surrounding him with her scent until finally he'd awaken writhing and sweaty.

And hard.

He thought it must be temporary. A strange phenomenon, brought on by his feelings of guilt and sadness, that would soon go away. But the dreams continued unabated, the details only expanding and intensifying, until soon Clarke was visiting his bed every night.

Lips he'd never kissed were sliding across his own with a passion so fierce it left him breathless. Breasts he'd tried never to think about were revealed to be just as beautiful and enticing as anything he might have imagined.

It was pleasure and it was pain. It was madness.

Bellamy had no idea what to do about it, especially on those nights when he awoke abruptly to find himself hard and throbbing and ready. When he'd scramble out of bed and over to the window so he could gaze out at the dead planet below. Until finally his breathing slowed and his heart rate returned to normal.

Until the night that he didn't. The night that he found he couldn't, this time, leave Clarke behind in his head.

He'd awoken as usual, but this time the dream felt so real, that even awake it was still with him. Her scent was all around him, her hair a fall of gold above him. The smooth pale globes of her breasts were an erotic contrast to the dusky rose of the hardened nipples that she offered him.

Eyes still closed, Bellamy grabbed onto his hard length, stroking firmly. But in his head it was _her_ hand he felt, the warmth of _her_ palm that soon had him panting for release. He would swear he could hear her voice breathily urging him on as she lowered herself onto him, as he entered her wet and waiting warmth.

It was ecstasy beyond imagining. _I love you_ , he murmured over and over, his body throbbing. Filled with gratitude that he wouldn't have to live the rest of his life not knowing what it felt like to be inside Clarke Griffin.

Bellamy came hard in his hand, startling himself fully awake.

Seconds later, his breathing barely returned to normal, the first sob was torn out of him. As the tears fell, he struggled to understand what had just happened to him. They'd never been like that, he and Clarke. Never even kissed. And yet he'd just pleasured himself to an erotic fantasy of her that had been so intense, so real, that he could still feel the gossamer strands of her silky hair, still smell her earthy scent.

Pain clutched at his heart when he remembered all over again that this was a fantasy that could never become a reality.

After a time, his sobs quieted and his mind cleared, and he rose to clean the sticky mess off himself. Bellamy was certain that he wouldn't be able to sleep for the rest of the night, but when he lay back on the bed his tired body soon fell into a dreamless slumber.

And when he awakened in the morning, as though wisdom had somehow visited him in the night, he thought maybe he understood himself after all.

For so long he'd refused to deal with Clarke's death, preferring to bury his grief beneath the urgent business of survival. But then it had all come crashing down, and he'd been overwhelmed by the loss of the best friend he'd ever had.

But now he was sure the dreams had represented another sort of grief. Because he had loved her. With a deep quiet intensity that had gone unacknowledged by them both. What's more, he thought there was every chance she might have loved him in exactly the same way. That they might have made a life together. That they could have been happy.

Until that path had been cut short by her sacrifice on the dying planet.

He'd already spent months grieving for the Clarke he'd known so well, mourning the loss of that deep abiding friendship that had bound them so tightly together. He missed that Clarke desperately.

But he'd needed the dreams, too. To mourn the Clarke who might have become so much more to him. To say goodbye to everything they might have been to one another.

Bellamy sighed, striving for control, hoping that the worst of his grief had passed.

The dreams never came again.

XXXXXXXXXX

If there was one thing his two separate bouts of grieving taught Bellamy, it was that he needed to proactively seek out something to do while they waited out praimfaya's grip on the planet. He had to find something to occupy his mind, to give him a sense of purpose, or he'd go crazy.

That something fell into his lap the day Echo came to tell him she'd finally finished clearing away all the detritus on the ring. Every room had been visited, every scrap of random hardware carefully collected.

Considering the size of the ring, and the condition they'd found it in on their return, Bellamy could hardly believe she'd managed it, on her own, even though she'd been at it for more than a year. The room they'd set aside to hold all the found treasures had soon grown to two, and then three.

"What would you like me to do with it all now, Bellamy?" Echo asked, a not unreasonable question.

"Well, I suppose you should, uh, catalog it."

Echo frowned. "Cat a _log_?"

Bellamy chuckled, not unkindly. It was clear she was unfamiliar with the word. "Make a list, Echo. You know. So many bolts, so many pipes. If there are things you can't identify, I'm sure one of us can help. You just have to ask."

But Echo didn't, as he'd expected, run off to find paper. Didn't ask for a pencil or something else to write with. Instead her face grew closed and her eyes shifted. He'd seen that look before, but never from the Azgeda warrior.

It was humiliation. And suddenly, he knew.

"Can you not write, Echo?" He asked the question as off-handedly as he could, wondering all the time how he could have been so stupid. Their brief stay on the planet had afforded him little opportunity to study grounder domestic arrangements, but he'd never seen anything like a school. Unless it was one for learning how to fight. For learning how to kill.

Even Lincoln's book, which he'd noted on numerous occasions, had been filled with drawings and tally marks, even several maps. But never, as far he could remember, with writing.

Her head came up suddenly. "I have my letters," she said more confidently. "Nia's priest taught me when they sent me off to...to..."

Bellamy nodded. "To spy. So that you could leave prearranged signals, is that it?"

Echo nodded, her expression becoming more tentative.

"But you were never actually taught to read or write."

She shook her head. "No."

Bellamy marveled once again at the shortsightedness of grounder culture. Generations of essentially universal literacy just thrown away. And to what purpose?

And then the answer to his own problem came to him in a flash. _Two birds, one stone. Again._

"Would you like to know more than just the letters, Echo? Do you want to learn how to read and write?"

She nodded slowly, frowning. "But...how?"

He smiled at her look of puzzlement. "I'll teach you myself."

"You, Bellamy?" Her look was eager. He suddenly remembered Raven's cautions about Echo and wondered if her look wasn't a little _too_ eager.

"Yes, me. But it will have to be in English, because I don't know your language well enough. And," he added before she could get too carried away, "I think we should invite Emori to join us."

When her face fell a bit, he congratulated himself on his foresight. Of course he now had to find a way to approach Emori without offending her. Or the prickly John Murphy.

In the end, Bellamy decided it would be better to make it about him, not them.

"I've been going out of my skull," he announced casually the following night at dinner. "I need a project I can get into, but there's not much up here I'm really good at. So...I've offered to teach Echo how to read."

He shrugged self-deprecatingly, and added his most charming half-smile.

"My last student was Octavia. She couldn't exactly go to school, so it was me or no one. And...I kind of liked it. So Echo's really doing me a favor, letting me work at something I enjoy."

Harper was enthusiastic, offering to help, while Raven eyed him suspiciously. When Emori said nothing at all, he kicked himself for not being more direct, sighing inwardly at the thought of hours of alone time with Echo.

It was Murphy who approached him later.

"So, in addition to saving the fucking world, I guess you're also Professor Blake?"

"Yeah, sorry, Murphy. Not everyone can be as fantastic as I am. Would you like my autograph?"

"Only if you want to write it on my ass." Murphy smirked. "On second thought, never mind."

Bellamy waited a moment, sure there was more to come. And Murphy didn't let him down.

"You know," he said casually, "I tried to teach Emori how to read. I thought at first it was because she was an outcast that she never learned, but she told me that only the priests and some of the leaders can read. Even in the clans. I mean, how fucked up is that?"

"Very. Very fucked up. A hundred years ago, almost everyone on Earth could read, and now hardly anyone can." He paused. "So how did it go? The reading lessons?"

Murphy shrugged. "Not well. I don't think I've got the teacher gene. But...uh...since that does seem to be one of your many talents, I thought maybe..."

Bellamy tried to arrange his features into what he hoped was a neutral expression. "Do you think Emori might like to learn, too? I mean, since I'm going to be teaching Echo anyway?"

Murphy nodded in obvious relief. "I know she would. She just...didn't want to ask herself."

Bellamy was surprised. "Why not?"

"Years of conditioning, of being told she wasn't worth shit. It makes her...anxious."

"Murphy, you know I don't think like that." Bellamy was appalled.

"Yeah," Murphy said, "I know."

Happy to have something worthwhile to think about and plan for, within days Bellamy had cobbled together anything that could remotely be thought of as teaching materials. He'd long since gathered together any books he'd come across, hoarding them in his quarters so he could read them over and over.

He'd offered them to the others, but Raven said she didn't do "ancient media" and the rest were all too busy. So they'd sat on his table, ready to relieve the tedium that often overtook him.

Later, Bellamy was to wonder how he would have survived his second sojourn on the Ark if he hadn't created what he laughingly referred to as "grounder school." Because in the end, the school brought the seven of them together in a way that even the struggle for survival had not.

Echo and Emori both learned to read quickly, and then Bellamy began to work in other subjects. Literature. Geography. History. He'd been fucking _appalled_ by how little they seemed to know about the history of their own planet and he worked hard to rectify that.

Eventually, in their spare time, the others got into the act. Harper. Monty. Even Raven. Biology and botany and physics. Echo and Emori soaked it all up like sponges. Only Murphy felt that he still lacked the "teacher gene" and preferred to just listen.

But what really served to bind them together was when the five Arkers asked to learn the grounder language. Bellamy knew some Trigedasleng, of course. They all did. But learning to actually speak it made the other two seem less like... _Others_. More like... _Friends_.

Soon the school sessions evolved into just regular conversations, and that morphed into Story Night, another idea that popped into Bellamy's head one evening when Monty was telling them a long, involved, and generally hilarious story about one of his and Jasper's pre-Skybox pranks.

"We need to do this more often," Bellamy blurted suddenly, when they'd all finally stopped laughing.

"I'm always happy to provide a few laughs," Murphy assured them. "I can maybe work on my stand-up routine."

"Yeah, that's not exactly what I meant," Bellamy explained with a smile. "I can always use a good laugh, too, but I really meant...well...we should tell each other stories about ourselves. We spend so much time just trying to stay alive but there are so many things about all of you that I have no idea about."

"So you want the story of my life?" Harper asked uncertainly. "There's not much I could talk about that would make anyone laugh."

"Harper, the stories don't have to be funny, or even entertaining. They just have to be," Bellamy shrugged, "you."

"Could these stories be...sad?" Echo's question was tentative.

Bellamy nodded. "They could be whatever you want them to be."

He searched their faces as he tried to make them understand.

"We're not even halfway through our time here. Still more than two and a half years to go. I think we might as well try to make that time about more than just...survival."

Once they'd begun, Bellamy wondered why the hell they'd never thought of it before.

From Echo, they heard about growing up as a privileged grounder - and from Emori, as an outcast one. Murphy talked about what his life had been like before his illness had destroyed his family, and they were all amazed to find that he actually had some happy childhood memories.

Harper and Monty explained how they'd ended up in Skybox, and Raven talked about Finn and the Collins family. Bellamy's stories mostly starred Octavia, tales of the mischievous child she'd been despite growing up under that floor. Echo had never heard about Octavia's childhood, and expressed amazement at how she could have made herself over into a warrior.

One night, Raven brought up the time that they'd all gotten high on the jobi nuts. Bellamy's breath had quickened as he recalled that day, his memories of Clarke returning to him in sharp relief.

But instead of pushing the memories away, Bellamy embraced them, and began to tell his own story.

About the guns, and the hallucinations. About his guilt and pain. About Dax trying to kill them, how he and Clarke had saved each others' lives. That he'd planned on leaving that day, but she persuaded him to stay. Convinced him he was still a good person and that she needed him. And then later, how she talked Jaha into pardoning him.

He told them everything. All of it. And it felt so good to talk about her.

It was only when he'd finished and looked up to find them all staring at him that Bellamy felt the wetness on his face.

He shrugged. "I can't forget her, so I might as well share my memories," he said quietly.

Five of them gazed at him in sympathy. Echo's look was unfathomable.

"I think I'll get some sleep." Bellamy rose from his chair, suddenly exhausted.

He hadn't been back in his quarters more than a minute when the knock came, and he knew who it was before he even opened the door.

"Echo," he nodded. "How can I help you?"

"I-I think I can help you, Bellamy. I think you...need someone. I know...we all know...what was between you and Clarke, but she is...she's gone."

Echo drew herself to her considerable height, as if in counterpoint to the hesitancy in her speech.

"But I am here, and I know I can bring you...comfort."

_Shit! Raven had warned him, but he'd thought the possibility of her approaching him was long past._

What the hell could he say to her? What did he even want to say to her?

"Echo..."

She put up her hand before he could continue. "You do not have to answer now, Bellamy. Take some time to think it over. But...I would be good to you."

Bellamy sighed. "Let's leave it for...a week, okay? Then we can talk"

_Surely he could sort it all out in his head in a week. Surely, in that amount of time, he could figure out what it was he wanted._

XXXXXXXXXX

Two days later Raven knocked on his door, and his relief was profound when he realized his visitor wasn't Echo, seeking to speed up his timetable.

"I think we should have a party," she said without preamble. "A Halfway Home party to celebrate getting over the hump, now that we're halfway through our sentence in this tin can."

"Great idea. How can I help?"

Raven shrugged. "I was just wondering about all that junk that Echo collected. Maybe I can use some of it to rig up some fancy lights or something."

"Okay," he said, putting down the book he'd been reading. "Let's take a look."

In truth, he'd never spent much time inspecting the trash that now nearly filled three rooms. The whole project had always been more about occupying Echo's time than about finding anything useful. And then they'd all been distracted by the school, so she'd never got around to cataloguing the contents after all. But from what he'd seen on earlier visits, it was mostly a whole lot of nothing.

"What the hell, Blake," Raven complained, as they made their way around the ring to the storage rooms. "Couldn't you have put this stuff a little closer?"

He shrugged a little shamefacedly. "I was mostly interested in keeping Echo occupied and out of the way. Besides, it didn't matter where the storage rooms were, since she searched every room in the entire ring. It took her over a year."

"Yeah, no one can say she isn't dogged and determined in the pursuit of a goal," Raven agreed drily, cocking a brow at him.

 _Fuck!_ What did Raven know? Maybe he should talk the situation over with her before he spoke to Echo again. He'd do it just as soon as they were done here.

But Bellamy never got the chance. Because what they found in the next few minutes put everything else out of their heads. It was Raven's find, and it happened in the very last corner of the third room.

"Holy shit!" she screamed suddenly.

"Raven, what the hell?" He hurried over from across the room.

And there, beside Raven, were what looked to be a half-dozen oxygen tanks. Bellamy could hardly believe his eyes.

"Are they full?" he asked, amazed that they'd been there all along.

She nodded, her eyes shining.

"Do you know what this means?"

"It means you can do another one of your space walks and fix the parts of the outer ring you've been so worried about." It was a fantastic piece of luck. They hadn't talked about it much, but he knew that having the ability to repair the Ark would be a relief to them all.

"Yeah," she nodded, "and that'll be my first priority." But then she couldn't keep the grin off her face. "It also means I can get out to the communication satellite and shift it back into position."

Bellamy's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. "But we don't have any transmitting devices."

"No," she agreed, "we don't. And I've never tried to figure out if we could build one because without the satellite in position, what was the point? But if I move it, we might at least be able to pick up transmissions from the ground."

"From the bunker," he said immediately. "Octavia."

Raven nodded happily. "Exactly."

As it turned out, not all the tanks were full, but Raven calculated there was more than enough oxygen for her to make the repairs, and still go back to move the satellite. She scheduled the first space walk for the following day, and the second one for the day after.

They all agreed it was the best news they'd had since they got back to the Ark and found that Clarke had managed to turn on the power. When both of Raven's space walks went smoothly, they threw themselves into their Halfway Home party, feeling that now they truly had something to celebrate.

(Bellamy wasn't sure which had exhilarated Raven more, fixing the Ark or walking in space, but he was more than happy to let her have both.)

They couldn't, of course, be certain exactly when they might hear from the bunker. Impossible to know if they were even transmitting down there, and equally difficult to know when the Ark would be in the best position to receive any transmissions.

So while Bellamy was happy that at least one-way communication was now possible, and excited that he might soon get some news about Octavia, he also knew enough to lower his expectations. They set a schedule so that someone would always be monitoring the receivers, but he knew it might be months before they heard anything at all and he prepared himself to be patient.

So he was relaxing in his room two days after the party, in the middle of perhaps his dozenth reading of _Lord of the Rings_ when Monty startled him, flinging open his door without even bothering to knock.

"Bellamy! You have to come now!"

_Whoa! That was fast!_

He felt his smile growing as he put the book down. "We've heard from the bunker? Octavia?"

"No." Monty shook his head.

"Well, then...?" he was puzzled. _Why the hell would Monty come racing in here if they hadn't heard from Octavia?_ Bellamy's forward movement slowed as he reached the door.

"Is something wrong?"

" _No!_ Nothing's wrong. Just come. _Please_."

By now, Monty looked like he was about to have a meltdown, so Bellamy just shrugged and followed him out the door. "Okay, I'm coming. Take it easy, Monty."

But then Monty began to move at such a rapid pace that Bellamy wondered if something wasn't very wrong after all. He was hurrying around the last corner, now nearly at a run, when he heard it.

A voice. An impossibly familiar voice.

_Clarke's voice._

It had been more than a year since that voice had come to him in his dreams, but right now Bellamy was pretty damn sure he was awake.

So when a few seconds later he heard it again - when he heard _Clarke_ again - he ground to a halt just outside the communications room, and demanded, "What the fuck is going on here?"

"Nothing bad, Bellamy. Please." Monty nodded for him to enter.

Bellamy peered into the room to find that they were all there. All five of them. All listening intently to the voice that sounded so eerily like Clarke but which he knew with complete certainty _couldn't possibly_ be.

_Because Clarke Griffin was dead._

And suddenly, he was absolutely sure that someone had decided to play a stupid fucking _hateful_ joke on him, and he was going to kill whichever one of them had done it.

Murphy was nearest to the door, and when he saw Bellamy his smile was so big that Bellamy knew he must be the instigator. In seconds, he had Murphy in a headlock, and he was pushing down on his windpipe, demanding that Murphy _tell him right now what the fuck he thought he was doing!_

It took the combined efforts Monty, Harper and Echo to pull him off Murphy, and all the while Emori was shrieking at him, terrified.

"No, Bellamy, you don't understand! John hasn't done anything! Let him _go_!"

It was Raven who finally got through to him. Raven who grabbed onto him, jerking him around to face her while Murphy coughed repeatedly behind him.

"Bellamy, stop! Just listen! Listen to what the fuck she's saying," Raven begged.

And so he blinked, and stilled. And listened.

Just as the voice on the comm spoke again.

_It's been 914 days, Bellamy. More than halfway now. I keep hoping that one of these days you'll answer me. Isn't that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different outcome? I think I've even made that stupid joke to you before, not that it's as stupid as some of your jokes._

He heard her throaty chuckle, the one he'd never heard enough of when they were on the ground.

Bellamy looked at Raven in wonder, hardly daring to believe it could be true.

"Yeah," she said softly, her eyes glassy. "She's alive. She made it."

He heard himself make a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh. Someone shoved a chair beneath him then, and that was a good thing, because his legs were about to buckle under him. Clarke started to speak again, and he held up his hand to quiet them all while he listened, enthralled and incredulous.

_The green patch we live on keeps getting bigger. I thought I was just imagining it at first, but Madi agrees and she's lived here a lot longer than I have._

Madi? He sent a questioning glance in Raven's direction, but the only answer he received was a shrug.

Down on the ground, Clarke heaved a sigh.

_Gotta go now. Time for Madi's lessons. Not that she'll be happy to hear it. I guess most ten-year-olds would rather play than study. But...I'll check in again tomorrow, Bellamy, just like I do every day._

And then she was gone.

Around him, he heard them whooping for joy, but Bellamy couldn't move. Couldn't think. Could scarcely breathe.

Clarke was alive. Clarke was _alive_.

"Clarke is alive," he said, his voice choking, thrilled to be able to say the words out loud.

Harper pulled him out of the chair then, enveloping him in a huge hug, while the others crowded around, clapping him on the back. Even Murphy.

"Murphy! Christ, I'm sorry. I just couldn't...didn't understand..." He knew the words were inadequate.

"It's okay," Murphy rasped. "I get it. But just for the record, I...wouldn't do something like that to you."

"Noted," Bellamy said, appalled by his actions. "And I should have known that."

Only Echo didn't approach him, but simply nodded to him from across the room. But he knew without her saying a word that they would never have to have that conversation after all.

XXXXXXXXXX

They tried to figure out what time of day Clarke usually transmitted, but she didn't seem to follow any pattern. And then there were the days they didn't hear from her at all, but Raven thought that those must be when the Ark was out of range.

Months later, they still hadn't heard from the bunker, but Bellamy continued to be patient, certain that if Clarke could rise from the dead, anything was possible.

He didn't spend every hour in the comm room, but that was only because they continued monitoring in shifts, and they knew enough to call him on the walkie as soon as Clarke started transmitting. But he did spend a lot of his time there, so if anyone was looking for Bellamy during the day, he could usually be found next to the receiver, reading a book.

That's where Raven found him, book in hand, waiting patiently.

She dropped into the chair beside him. "Anything yet today?"

He shook his head. "It's a little early." He shrugged. "I relieved Monty early. If she does transmit, I don't want to miss the first part because I wasn't here."

Raven grinned widely. "You have really got it bad, Blake. I mean, I think I always knew it, but you were always so fucking quiet about it."

Bellamy flushed. "Yeah, well, no time ever seemed like the right time. There was always something more important to think about."

"But when we get back," her brows rose as she nodded at him, "then you're going to tell her."

Bellamy shrugged. "Maybe. Who's to say after all this time it's something she'd even want to hear?"

Raven hooted. "Bellamy! She's sent you a thousand freaking messages! You! Every day, the girl sends Bellamy Blake a message. So, yeah, I kinda think she might like to hear how you feel about her."

He nodded. "I can always hope, I guess."

Raven smiled at him. "So you do have hope then?"

Bellamy could feel the joy in his answering smile. "Well, yeah," he said. "Of course I have hope. She's still breathing, isn't she?"


End file.
